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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464743">a resolution</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubonickitten/pseuds/bubonickitten'>bubonickitten</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>if you can't find any comfort at the end of the world, making your own from scratch is fine [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(not explicitly stated as such but i write him that way), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, M/M, Post MAG 169, Post-Episode: e169 Fire Escape (The Magnus Archives), Season/Series 05, in which jon talks about his FEELINGS, martin gets to do one (1) swear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:20:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubonickitten/pseuds/bubonickitten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Martin leave the Desolation behind and talk about what the <i>hell</i> just happened - and where to go from here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>if you can't find any comfort at the end of the world, making your own from scratch is fine [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a resolution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's probably worth mentioning that my WIP document for this was titled 'jonmartin can have a little cbt in the time of the apocalypse, as a treat'. </p><p>Not technically accurate, but listen - the end of the world doesn't exactly have a lot of legit therapy options and the serotonin machine has been broken for years, so this is the next best thing.</p><p>CW: mild self-harm (scratching/hair pulling as a stim); brief dissociation/drdp; discussion of canon-typical trauma.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon waits until they’re safely beyond the Desolation’s borders, when the cinders no longer fall like snow and the whiff of smoke has faded, before he stops.</p><p> </p><p>When he does, it’s so abrupt that Martin nearly walks right into him. Jon doesn’t notice. His thoughts feel disjointed and cluttered; his body feels alien to him. Eyes unfocused, he scans the area and gravitates to the first thing that calls out to him – a dead and gnarled tree, its bark charred and charcoal-black. There’s a little hollow, just the perfect size for two people to hide away. He drops his bag unceremoniously to the ground, sending up a little puff of dust and ash, and tucks himself away in the alcove, pulling his knees to his chest and locking his arms around them. The tree is a sturdy presence, tangible and grounding, and he presses himself against it at every point of contact he can manage.</p><p> </p><p>After a moment, Martin follows. He has the presence of mind to remove his own pack, grab Jon’s bag from the ground, and lean them both neatly against the tree before clambering after Jon. It’s a tight fit for Martin; he has to keep his head ducked, and squeezing in next to Jon has him pressed against the tree on one side and Jon’s body on the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Martin mumbles, sounding a bit self-conscious. “It’s – I’m a lot bigger than you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like the pressure,” Jon says, leaning into Martin’s side. A full minute passes before he spares a thought for Martin’s comfort and a little pang of shame ripples through him. “Is it uncomfortable for you? We can –”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” Martin says. “For the moment, anyway. I’ll let you know when my arm starts falling asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon nods, but his thoughts are already drifting again. He bites the inside of his cheek, wiggles his toes, and tries to focus on the safe, solid warmth of Martin’s body next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Are we going to talk about what just happened, Jon?”</p><p> </p><p>“I…” Jon shuts his eyes tight and tries to shuffle his thoughts into some semblance of order.</p><p> </p><p>He isn’t sure how much time passes before he hears Martin’s voice again. It sounds distant and muffled. Unable to process the garbled noise into meaningful words, his attention begins to slide away again, leaving him adrift in his own fuzzy thoughts.  </p><p> </p><p>Then, Martin makes a grab for his hand and one word comes into focus:<em> “Jon.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Jon startles and draws his hands back, hiding them in the folds of his jacket and hugging his sides. It takes a moment for him to register the hurt in Martin’s eyes, but when he does, he feels a twinge of regret.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I don’t know why –” Jon begins, just as Martin says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to –”</p><p> </p><p>They both stop simultaneously and Jon nods for Martin to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“I just wanted to – you were scratching? Your hands.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon pulls his hands out of hiding and looks. The back of his burned hand does seem a bit irritated, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s not surprising that he didn’t notice the scratching – the scar tissue there never registers much sensation at all.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as Jon notices Martin looking, he flashes back to their discussion just before entering the Desolation.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it just makes me sick; I hate it. Hate it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jon wishes he couldn’t remember it with such clarity, but the Archive in him catalogs everything. These days, he can recall most things verbatim – and even when he doesn’t intend to, the Archive does it for him. </p><p> </p><p>He pulls his sleeve down to cover his burn and folds his arms against his chest again. </p><p> </p><p>“Jon.” Martin, observant as ever, can apparently see right through him. “Give me your hand.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon can feel the stinging threat of tears in his eyes. He begrudgingly holds out his burned hand and looks away before Martin can notice him tearing up – and so he doesn’t have to watch Martin’s face as he takes in the shiny, gnarled whorls of scar tissue. </p><p> </p><p>Martin’s hand is warm and gentle as he laces their fingers together, and without hesitation, he brings Jon’s hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to each knuckle. Jon can’t help but steal a glance at Martin, and the sheer tenderness written all over his face –</p><p> </p><p>Jon can’t help it: the dam breaks, the tears overflow, and soon his breath is coming in short, gasping hiccups.</p><p> </p><p>“You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?” Martin says quietly, his lips brushing against Jon's fingers.</p><p> </p><p><em>How did you know what I was thinking? </em>Jon wants to ask, but he can’t form the words. Instead, he just shudders as he tries to stifle his sobs.</p><p> </p><p>“I love every part of you, and that includes the scars. They’re reminders that you’ve survived.” Martin rubs his thumb over the back of Jon’s hand in a slow, soothing motion. “It’s just – I wish you didn’t have to go through any of it in the first place. I hate what’s been done to you. But you’re more than that, and – and the scars are proof of that. Despite everything, you’re still alive. You’re still <em>you.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Am I, though?” It comes out as a croak, and only then does Jon realize just how raw his throat is. There won’t be any lasting damage from walking through a blazing building, but it’s certainly taking its time fading away.</p><p> </p><p>He feels another wave of guilt overtake him at the thought of how frightened Martin was. Jon had been so absorbed in recording the fear permeating the Desolation, and then so wrapped up in his own petty revenge fantasy, that he shut Martin out, left him choking on the blistering heat and shrinking away from the flames, stranded with only his abject terror to keep him company – </p><p> </p><p>“Jon –”</p><p> </p><p>“You see what I am, what I can <em>do –</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“She deserved it, Jon. So did that – that thing that killed Sasha.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, they did. But I used the same power that destroyed the world in order to do it, and I <em>liked </em>it, and – and I dragged you along with me, all for an empty, fleeting moment of vengeance. I promised I wouldn’t let the Eye hurt you, and then I subjected you to –” Jon swallows hard, his sore throat protesting. “And now it’s over, I just feel sick. Jude was right – I’m no better than her.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not –”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you know, before the change – when I still slept – one of the nightmares I invaded belonged to Jordan Kennedy? The exterminator, the one who was called to deal with Jane Prentiss’ wasp nest?” Once he starts, he can’t stop – the words pour forth in a frenetic rush, and he lets them carry him away. “He would look at me, and look at Prentiss, and he – he never knew who to fear more. Even after years, Prentiss was – she was always the part of the dream that terrified me more than any of the others, and – and in his eyes, we were the same –”</p><p> </p><p>“Jon –”</p><p> </p><p>“Prentiss was so <em>frightened</em> in her statement, so <em>human. </em>I thought the hive had hollowed her out against her will, turned her into a monster – but now, I wonder if she chose to let it have her –”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Jon –”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I talked to Helen about it once, you know. About choice. It seems like the avatars – we all have something about us that draws the powers to us in the first place. The only difference between us and any other victim is that we – we embrace it, to some extent, whether we realize it or not. We have a choice, and we choose to abandon our humanity, and whatever happens after that –”</p><p> </p><p>“Jon, <em>stop.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Jon shuts his mouth so quickly that his teeth collide with a <i>clack</i>.  </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t healthy –” Martin holds up his free hand as Jon opens his mouth again. “No, let me talk.” He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re equating yourself with the ones who hurt you. You’re… you’re looking back at all the things that traumatized you and putting yourself in the same category.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jude said –”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t <em>care </em>what Jude said!”</p><p> </p><p>“But she was right!” Jon says viciously, tearing his hand from Martin’s grasp and burying it in his hair, pulling until his scalp starts to ache.</p><p> </p><p>“What about me, Jon? Am I no better than Peter Lukas?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the same thing –”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? The Lonely was drawn to me for a reason. I made a choice to let it in, and then I made a choice to embrace it. I <em>liked </em>it, in my own way.” Martin places one hand under Jon’s chin and guides him to meet his eyes. “What if things had gone just a bit differently? What if you never woke up? I might have actually committed myself to the Lonely. Would that have twisted me, driven me to seek out the isolated and feed them to it in the same way that Peter did?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s different –”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No, it’s not.</em> You think the Beholding was drawn to you because you’re curious. <em>Fine. </em>You <em>are </em>curious. It’s infuriating and charming all at once, and sometimes you take it to - to careless extremes. That still doesn’t make any of this your fault. It makes you a <em>victim</em>, Jon – you were manipulated, tormented, used, and thrown away. You didn’t deserve any of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon has sunken into a sullen silence, and Martin groans in frustration.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, let’s – okay,” Martin says, counting on his fingers, “Mike Crew was struck by lightning. Jane Prentiss stumbled upon a wasps’ nest. All Helen did was open a door. Whether they were targeted or just had bad luck, they were coerced into choosing between equally terrible options and twisted into people they probably never expected to be. Even Daisy – all she did was trespass on some childhood dare, right? Look where that led her.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon chews his lip and says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just saying, from where I’m sitting, the punishment doesn’t seem to fit the transgression. If you can even call half those things transgressions. Helen’s curiosity led her to open a door, but that hardly seems like a crime to me. You’ve never once believed that Helen deserved what happened to her. So why are you holding yourself to different standards?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just… different. I – I had a clear choice, and I chose to be a monster instead of having the decency to –” Jon cuts himself off, but it’s too late.</p><p> </p><p>“To what? To <em>die?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Well, if I had, it would have freed the rest of you –”</p><p> </p><p>“And if you died, I would have given in to the Lonely, and Daisy would still be in the coffin, and Melanie would have been taken by the Slaughter, and Elias would have found a new pawn –”</p><p> </p><p>“I just –”</p><p> </p><p><em>“I’m not done,”</em> Martin says forcefully. “It’s still victim blaming even if <em>you’re </em>the victim, Jon. Do you really not see why it’s upsetting for me to hear you compare yourself to people who <em>tortured</em> you? To have you listen to <em>Jude Perry </em>over me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I…”</p><p> </p><p>“You know what?” Martin laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, let’s – let’s talk about Jude, shall we? Because as far as I can tell, she’s an example of someone who <em>did </em>choose this. I listened to parts of the tapes while you were in hospital, and she said as much herself. She was always cruel. She <em>enjoyed</em> destroying people long before the Desolation took an interest in her. Who knows, maybe there was something in her life that could explain why she was the way she was, and she just didn’t tell you. But based on what we know? She <em>just liked hurting people</em>. She was never conflicted about it, and she never apologized for it. Hell, she <em>gloated </em>about it. Even at the very end, all she wanted was to scare me and hurt you.”  </p><p> </p><p>When Martin finishes speaking, he’s slightly out of breath. Jon reaches out tentatively, letting his fingers brush against Martin’s wrist, and Martin grasps his hand and interlocks their fingers again.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon says quietly. “I’m just… I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s… well, it’s not fine. But we had to talk about it.” Martin sniffles a bit, then clears his throat. “I guess maybe the <em>Kill Bill </em>thing isn’t working for us, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe not. I think… I think it’s not as simple as we want it to be. It would be – nice, to be able to just draw up a hit list, burn through it on our way to Jonah, but… I don’t like what it does to me. I don’t like what it does to <em>you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Martin sighs.  </p><p> </p><p>“And I’m still – I’m still worried about Annabelle. We could be playing right into her hands, and we still don’t even know what she’s after, and…” Jon makes an aggravated noise. “And just like that, I’m back to the free will question.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a question that always, <em>always</em> leads him to a dead end. Sometimes he passes hours with Annabelle’s statement playing on a loop in his head until he feels paralyzed with indecision, and nothing good ever comes of it.  </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, no,” Martin says. “No more self-harm disguised as philosophizing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“The rumination, Jon – it’s self-destructive. It’s the same as when you’d seek out Helen whenever you were feeling inhuman. You’d let the ‘throat of delusion’ reinforce your fears, and then you’d use that as a justification for risking your life.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon is struck speechless. He just stares at Martin, mouth opening and closing minutely, trying and failing to compose any coherent response.</p><p> </p><p>“I was keeping an eye on you. Even when I was working for Peter.” He pauses, and then, almost under his breath, he adds: “You find such roundabout ways to hurt yourself, sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I…”</p><p> </p><p>“You never thought of it that way, did you?” Martin’s smile is half-indulgent, half-sad. “Well, if you’re going to keep getting tripped up by the free will thing, let’s just… address it. Lay it all out, all those little what-ifs and if/thens.”  </p><p> </p><p>“That seems like… quite an undertaking,” Jon says, uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well. Time doesn’t really <em>work</em> anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“But people are still suffering with every moment we sit here –”</p><p> </p><p>“The longer we go without sitting down and talking this out, the more we’ll stumble. We’ll probably reach the Panopticon sooner if we can agree on a strategy, and this… this seems like a good first step. Here, let me –”</p><p> </p><p>Martin extricates himself from their hiding place with a small grunt of effort. Standing and dusting himself off, he reaches down to help Jon up. “Over here,” he says, leading Jon by the hand to their bags and gesturing for him to sit down.</p><p> </p><p>Jon complies, Martin settles in beside him, but then – Jon has a sudden thought, and his attention swivels back to Martin.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait. Before we move on, I… how are you –” He stops himself with an agitated little shake of his head, then restructures the statement. “I would like to know how you’re feeling. If – if you want to say.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jon,” Martin says, his voice cross, “you are <em>not </em>redirecting this into a conversation about <em>me </em>just because you don’t want to talk about <em>your </em>feelings –”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Jon says quickly, “we can come back to this, I just - it’s not fair, me venting to you and expecting you to soak up my – my nonsense –”</p><p> </p><p>“Not nonsense –”  </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay, fine – my – my <em>feelings.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“The word isn’t going to bite your tongue off if you say it,” Martin says, shaking his head with an exasperated smirk as Jon rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“All the same, I…” Jon reaches over and cups one side of Martin’s face. He didn’t realize until now how caked in soot and ash they both are, as he rubs his thumb over Martin’s cheekbone. “I was being self-centered before we went after Jude, and I was being self-centered just now. I’d like to know where you are right now, in all this.”</p><p> </p><p>Martin closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and leans into Jon’s touch. “I’m… scared. Obviously. I think the Desolation is one of the fears that gets to me the most. Not just the pain aspect, though I – I was being serious when I said that burning is my least favorite pain ever.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon lets his hand drift to Martin’s hairline and brushes a stray curl away from his forehead, shaking loose a sprinkle of ashes.</p><p> </p><p>“But it’s also… it’s the loss aspect, I think?” Martin continues. “How easily you can lose everything, how quickly the people you love can – can disappear from your life.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon reaches out with his free hand – the burned one – and places it on top of one of Martin’s. Martin takes it gratefully, intertwines their fingers, and rests his head on Jon’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m… I’m not used to people caring about me, but being abandoned still hurts, even when it’s people who never cared for you. And now – now I have someone who <em>does</em> care for me. When you tell me you love me, I <em>believe </em>you, which is… I never thought I’d have that. If I lost you, I don’t know… I don’t know what I would do.”</p><p> </p><p>As the tears start to trickle down Martin’s cheeks, leaving trails in the soot clinging to his skin, Jon’s breath hitches and his heart clenches in his chest. A sudden, jarring memory returns to him, of Jude describing how she could reach in and burn his heart right out of him, and he pushes the thought away.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Martin. I… I didn’t think about that.” He squeezes Martin’s hand in his, hoping it comes off as reassuring. “Honestly, I think I’m also still getting used to the concept of someone actually… caring what happens to me. It doesn’t always occur to me naturally – the thought of someone missing me, or – or grieving for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright –”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s not,” Jon interrupts. It comes off more sharply than he had intended, and he softens his voice before he continues. “Don’t let me off the hook. I… I knew I wouldn’t lose you, I knew I could keep us both alive, but I also knew that we wouldn’t pass through unscathed, and I dragged you in there anyway. I’m…” He frowns. “It's not an excuse, but I - I think I’m somewhat desensitized to physical pain, at this point?”</p><p> </p><p>Martin opens his mouth and Jon cuts him off.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I – I still feel it, it’s just... I've come to expect it? And then I heal so quickly, it - it doesn't feel consequential.” It’s more that his body doesn’t always feel like it belongs to him. There’s a sense of detachment that grew up over time, layer upon layer; he can’t quite pinpoint when exactly he started to think, <em>Well, what’s another scar?</em></p><p> </p><p>“That’s worse. You get how that’s worse, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I – I suppose,” Jon admits reluctantly. “But that’s not the point. You told me, explicitly, how you felt, and I subjected you to it anyway. I rationalized it by saying there would be no lasting physical damage, but that - that isn't the only kind of harm there is, and it's no consolation in the moment, when all you can think about is how much it hurts." Jon closes his eyes. "It was wrong of me to take you in there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.” Martin bites his lip. “I <em>am</em> the one who wanted to go <em>Kill Bill, </em>though.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I went along with it, and for the wrong reasons.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think revenge is a bad reason. You have every right to feel angry –”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably. But I’m… I’m also the most powerful thing in this wasteland. I could cut a path of destruction from here to the Panopticon, and nothing could stop me. But I’d burn you in the process, and – and probably lose myself, too.” Jon pauses, grappling with how to phrase it. “The Eye already forces me to feel what it feels. To See what it Sees. And I worry that - that I'll reach a point where I'm so numb to it all that I'll forget what it was ever like to be human. To care about people suffering. And using these powers for no reason other than taking revenge, I think it feeds the Beholding, strengthens its hold on me. I can see myself rationalizing it, but when I look at some of the other avatars… making those kinds of justifications led them down a path that I would very much like to avoid. Whether Jude deserved it is a moot point.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think she did, though,” Martin says. “So did the... the Sasha thing." </p><p> </p><p>“Honestly? I think so, too. Forcing them to experience the suffering they’ve caused, it was what they deserved. But Jude was right, when she said I was enjoying it. Using my powers to hurt people, knowing that they can’t hurt me now… it feels good. It feels right in the same way that – that taking live statements used to, and that scares me. And I think… I think it scares you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not afraid of you, Jon.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I don’t want to reach a point where you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“That won’t happen.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know that.” Martin opens his mouth to argue, and Jon holds up a hand to stay him.  “Even if you’re not afraid of <em>me, </em>you’re afraid you might lose me to this. I’m not – I didn’t read your mind,” Jon hastens to add, “I just… I saw how you looked at me, when I was dealing with Jude. When your voice couldn’t reach me. I’m still unsure how much of it is the Beholding and how much of it is just <em>me</em>, but I do know that I don’t like it, and that it isn’t worth the cost. It doesn’t change anything, and it hurts you, and it – it isn’t healthy for me, either.”</p><p> </p><p><em>I see you,</em> he thinks, staring into Martin’s eyes, <em>I see you. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I meant it when I said that you are my reason. I lost sight of that for a moment, and I don’t want that to happen again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Martin sighs, tightening his grip on Jon’s hand and forcing a tight smile. “No more <em>Kill Bill. </em>At least – at least not recklessly.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon nods. “From now on… unless something poses an imminent danger, and I have to defend us on the spur of the moment, we talk. We explore all the options, all the potential consequences. I don’t smite unless we both agree on it – for the right reasons. No more feeding the Beholding on a whim.” He looks into Martin’s eyes again. “Does that seem… I would like to know if that feels fair, to you.” Martin nods, and Jon lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “And if one of us starts feeling differently, we revisit this conversation. I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t… renegotiate, or add more conditions.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like that,” Martin says, and plants a soft kiss on Jon’s lips.</p><p> </p><p>They sit in silence for a few minutes, Martin’s head on Jon’s shoulder and his arm wrapped firmly around Jon’s waist. Eventually, Martin clears his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So. Back to the free will thing,” he says, lifting his head. When Jon starts to make a noise of protest, Martin shoots him a stern look. “You promised.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Fine,” </em>Jon says through a heavy exhale, sitting up straight as Martin leans away and resenting the loss of the comforting weight of Martin’s body against his. “So, how do you want to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you always liked visuals.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You had a conspiracy corkboard in your office, Jon.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon flushes in indignation. “Don’t call it that –”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m joking. Mostly.” Martin laughs and kisses Jon’s cheek, which Jon receives with an only <em>somewhat</em> petulant huff. “Seriously, though, I think a visual will help you keep track of your own thoughts, and it’ll help me follow along.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon isn’t quite sure where Martin is going with this, but at least it’s a starting point, which is already more than Jon could come up with.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Jon says quizzically. “How should I…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I figured you could just…” Martin scribbles in the dust with one finger.</p><p> </p><p>When Jon leans closer to see what he’s written, he can clearly make out the words:</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong><em>GET FUCKED, JONAH. </em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Jon chokes on a laugh. His sore throat twinges again, but when Martin starts laughing, it creates a feedback loop, and soon both of them are left wheezing as they try to catch their breath.</p><p> </p><p>“He – he can probably See that, you know,” Jon manages to get out.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s rather the <em>point</em>, love,” Martin replies with a grin, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Jon’s ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Jon takes a few shaky breaths, fighting back a smile and trying to school himself back into seriousness. “Okay. Let’s… let’s give this a try, I suppose," he says, and sets to dragging an index finger through the dirt.   </p><p> </p><p>It takes Jon a few minutes to acclimate to it, but soon he’s mapping out his tangled, racing thoughts on the ground, funneling his anxiety into flow charts and network diagrams. He’s always had a highly associative mind, prone to tangents and distraction. He finds himself adding parentheticals, footnotes, asterisks, arrows, all of it blurring together as the loose dirt gets pushed around. It doesn’t take long before Martin has to move back to give him more room to work. At some point, he breaks a branch off the charred tree for Jon to use as a pointer, and Jon accepts it absentmindedly without even the slightest pause in his dissertation, barely noticing the shower of ashes that rains down from the jostled tree.</p><p> </p><p>It’s absurd, taking an intermission during the apocalypse to navel gaze about the nature of free will, but… miraculously, it’s <em>helping</em>. Martin stops Jon frequently to ask questions, redirect his focus, provide feedback, and expand on certain points. Jon is struck by how much effort Martin seems to be putting into following each of Jon’s convoluted trains of thought to their many branching, disparate destinations, and he thinks, not for the first time, <em>What did I do to deserve him? </em> </p><p> </p><p>“When I think about it,” Jon says feverishly, pacing and gesturing with his hands the way he does when he’s absorbed in a debate, “the Web may have been pulling strings my whole life. I – I was marked by it when I was eight, and that was partly why Jonah chose me. He said I might have even been a gift from the Web, that I was drawn to the Institute, and that makes me wonder how many of my choices have been… influenced, without me ever noticing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, let’s take that as a premise,” Martin says patiently, placing one hand on the stick Jon is waving around and guiding the point down until it’s less of an accident waiting to happen. “Not saying it’s true, mind you – we shouldn’t trust anything Jonah says – but let’s just… follow that to its conclusion, see where it leads. What would it mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“It would mean…” Jon wets his lips, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “It would mean that, like Gertrude, I was always going to end up here. But – but then again… Annabelle’s statement. She suggested that the Web is just the <em>fear </em>of manipulation, and maybe it’s actually hands-off, just feeding on the paranoia we create for ourselves. But she also said that maybe it doesn’t matter, because either way, the Web always gets the results it wants.”</p><p> </p><p>“And Annabelle <em>also</em> said she might just be telling you all that to make sure you do what the Web wants you to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Jon groans in frustration. “I wish I knew what the Web <em>wants. </em>Does it even have a goal, or does it just <em>look</em> like it does to our pattern-seeking minds? Like – like some sort of metaphysical pareidolia.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm. I think we need to look at this a different way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Go on?”</p><p> </p><p>“If we can identify one instance of free will, that proves its existence.” Martin shrugs. “It doesn’t say anything about the extent or nature of it, but it at least eliminates the possibility that <em>everything</em> is out of our control.”</p><p> </p><p>“That… sounds reasonable," Jon says, just a little doubtfully. "But the problem is – how can we <em>know </em>whether something was fully our choice?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, choices don’t occur in a vacuum anyway – they’re products of our past experiences, right? So there’s always going to be something influencing us. The question we need to focus on now is whether there’s another consciousness pulling the strings.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” It’s far too tempting for Jon to veer off topic and into this new potential avenue of discussion, but it helps having Martin to guide him back on track. “So, can you think of anything, any time when, looking back, you can say with confidence that <em>you </em>made a choice without being manipulated by something for its own gain?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” Jon is somewhat taken aback by how immediate Martin’s response is. “Do tell.”</p><p> </p><p>“Loving you,” Martin says without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>“I – what?” Jon sputters. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He <em>knows </em>Martin loves him, of course – that comes as no surprise – but he’s still rendered speechless whenever Martin says it so directly. He’s so casual about it, so sincere, so <em>confident</em>, as if there could be no reality in which it isn’t true.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s true,” Martin says, a faint blush beginning to blossom on his cheeks. “I mean – it’s not that I actively <em>decided </em>to have a crush on you or anything, attraction just kind of happens unconsciously, but – but deciding to pursue it? That was a choice I made. Even if I have a hard time imagining a scenario where I wouldn’t <em>want</em> to take care of you – I still could have decided not to act on it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… certainly made it difficult for you, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you weren’t exactly receptive to…” Martin snorts. “Well, any kindness at all, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“So then why didn’t you give up? Why did you keep putting the effort in, when all I did was push you away? What if –”</p><p> </p><p>Martin shakes his head with a fond little smile. “Jon, what possible reason could the Web have to make you happy?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would one of the fears choose to manipulate you in a way that <em>didn’t </em>make you miserable, when there are so many options to do it in a way that hurts you? Since when would they care about you feeling safe, or cared for, or – or supported? If anything, you being isolated would make you easier to manipulate.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not necessarily – you can control someone by threatening someone they love. That’s why you kept working with Peter, isn’t it? You knew he was using you, sure, but – but I listened to the tapes. I know I wasn’t the only reason you went along with him, but it did factor in. You were distracting him, keeping him occupied so he didn’t come after me.”</p><p> </p><p>“True,” Martin concedes. “But can the fears even comprehend love?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still not convinced the fears are conscious at all, or if they just... <em>exist."</em> Jon frowns in concentration as he tries to find the right words. “Like – like gravity. Forces with no sentience, no minds of their own, except for what we project onto them.”</p><p> </p><p>“That only bolsters my argument.”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Either way, I don’t think the fears could force me to love you, and even if they could, I don’t think they’d bother – not when there are more straightforward ways to terrorize us. I don’t think they particularly care about our feelings.”</p><p> </p><p>“Helen said something similar once,” Jon recalls. “I wanted to know when the Eye would make me monstrous. When I would stop feeling guilty. She said that the Eye wouldn’t have a reason to do that, when I was already doing what it wanted regardless of my own feelings on the matter. She said… she said that Helen made a choice to just stop feeling guilty, because she was going to feed whether or not she felt guilty about it, and it was pointless to agonize over it when the outcome would be the same either way. And now… well, you see what she’s like.”</p><p> </p><p>“See? I doubt any of the fears would take an interest in our slow burn love life," Martin says with a wry smile, "and if they did, it would only be to sabotage it.”</p><p> </p><p>Thinking about it, recalling all the moments leading up to this…</p><p> </p><p>“I think you might be onto something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” Martin perks up, clearly delighted. “You’re saying I was right?”  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Martin, you were right,” Jon sighs, amusement creeping into his voice despite himself. “I don’t think my feelings for you were being controlled. Even if the situations we were thrown into were orchestrated, I… I can’t think of a single moment when loving you felt coerced. Even following you into the Lonely – it may have been part of Jonah’s plan, maybe even part of the Web’s machinations, but looking back at all the choices I’ve made, I think… no, I know that one was all me. You ending up in there was a result of manipulation, but my choice to go after you – I didn’t hesitate. That – that isn’t like me, I second-guess <em>everything, </em>but… I didn’t, then. In my mind, there was no other option – and that wasn’t because someone removed all the other options, it was because I decided that no other option was worth considering.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Martin's voice sounds very, very small. Then: “I do think sometimes, though, about how… if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been marked by the Lonely. It was the last mark Jonah needed to use you for the Ritual, and I –”</p><p> </p><p>“He would have found another way.” Jon shrugs. “The outcome – being marked by the Lonely – that may have been inevitable. But the <em>way </em>it happened – that was me. I didn’t follow you because I felt guilty, or because I had no one else, or because the Eye wanted me to experience the Lonely. It was because I care about you, and because you deserve better than to be Forsaken.”  </p><p> </p><p>When Jon looks up, he sees that Martin is crying, and draws him into a tight embrace.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never once regretted coming to find you,” he promises, wiping Martin’s tears away with his thumb, “and I would do it again. It might be the only decision I’ve made where I've never doubted whether I made the right choice.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Martin whispers after a few minutes, as his sniffling subsides. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Jon replies, voice rough from his own unshed tears.  </p><p> </p><p>“That was… quite eloquent.” Martin lets out a tearful chuckle, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “So – did this help at all? Did you have any – any epiphanies?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I did, yes.” Jon releases Martin and picks up the stick again, drawing a rough illustration of a set of scales in the dirt. “One side is 'being controlled.' The other side is 'having free will.' I’ll never know how the scale is balanced, and that’s… I’ll just have to accept that. As long as there’s <em>some </em>free will in the equation, that’s... that's going to have to be enough to move forward.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay with that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I have to be. I feel it’s a question that will never be answered to my satisfaction, and no amount of obsessing is going to change that. Even if I could seek an answer, I don’t think it would be worth –”</p><p> </p><p>A sharp, electric pain courses through Jon’s head just then, leaving him gasping in its wake. The vertigo that floods him brings him back to his encounter with Mike Crew, and when he comes back to himself, he finds himself on his knees, trembling in Martin’s arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Jon! Jon, are you alright?” Martin’s concerned face comes into view as Jon’s blurry vision clears, and he nods wordlessly. “What was – what was that about?”</p><p> </p><p>“I – I don’t think the Ceaseless Watcher liked that very much,” Jon says, wincing at the lingering ache. “The prospect of – of letting a question go unanswered.”</p><p> </p><p>Martin holds him, rocking gently, stroking his hair, until the throbbing begins to wane. Jon clenches his fist in Martin’s jumper and breathes deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m alright,” he says eventually, sitting up again.</p><p> </p><p>“So… where do we go from here?”</p><p> </p><p>“What I was going to say, before – before the Eye threw a <em>tantrum</em>,” he hisses, glowering up at the sky.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t <em>provoke </em>it –”</p><p> </p><p>“What I was <em>going</em> to say is that I think the best way to tolerate the ambiguity is through action.” Jon holds his breath and steels himself before he continues, half expecting another bout of disapproval from the Beholding. “Any amount of free will means that change is possible. That means it’s worth trying, even if the outcome is uncertain, or – or hopeless. If that means taking it on faith that I can make my own choices, then… it’s a fair tradeoff, I think. The only way to determine how much control we really have is to experiment.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some practical research, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose so. Discovery through praxis. At least real-world evidence of cause and effect gives me something tangible to observe. It’s better than… what did you call it –”</p><p> </p><p>“Rumination as a roundabout method of self-harm,” Martin supplies helpfully.  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Jon says sheepishly, “that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, at least we have a way forward now.”</p><p> </p><p>Martin stands and pulls Jon to his feet and right into a strong embrace before picking up a bag in each hand.</p><p> </p><p>“So, where to next?”</p><p> </p><p>“Something horrifying, I’m sure.” Jon takes a moment to glare at the Panopticon, still so far off in the distance, before taking his pack from Martin and sliding the straps over his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, come on, then,” Martin sighs, linking their hands together. “Onward.”</p><p> </p><p>“Onward,” Jon says with a resolute nod, gripping Martin’s hand tightly as they resume their journey.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments appreciated!! </p><p>I'm also on Tumblr at <a href="https://bubonickitten.tumblr.com/">bubonickitten</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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